


Forging New Bonds

by Telaryn



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, Headcanon, Introspection, Mind Games, Not A Fix-It, Prison, Redemption, Season/Series 01-02 Hiatus, Starting Over
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-16
Updated: 2014-09-16
Packaged: 2018-02-17 15:48:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2314967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Telaryn/pseuds/Telaryn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Director Coulson settles into his new role and starts to really consider what it means to "build SHIELD up right", the problem of his former specialist is still uppermost in his mind.  If everyone really is worth saving, what does this mean for Grant Ward?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forging New Bonds

**Author's Note:**

> Look - I don't hate Grant Ward. I think he's much more interesting as a villain, but given that he's clearly going to be redeemed I have made my peace with what will be.
> 
> I don't know _why_ I got hit with a plot bunny that literally hasn't let my brain go in days, but here it is - my vision of how Grant Ward's redemption could go.

He usually waited until it was late enough for most of the base to assume he’d turned in for the night. Everybody in the Playground seemed to have an opinion on Grant Ward these days, and as far as Coulson could tell they were evenly divided between wondering why he wasn’t spending all his time in the care of a SHIELD interrogator and thinking that Coulson should have just had him taken out and shot already.

 _You were certainly pissed off enough to do either one,_ he remembered, leaning his crossed arms on the sill of the one-way monitoring window. On the other side of the glass was his former specialist – a HYDRA mole planted to force Coulson to figure out exactly what had been done to bring him back from eight days in the ground.

Grant Ward was definitely looking rougher around the edges than Coulson had ever seen him. Once the closest thing Phil could find to a proper psychiatrist had determined that Ward wasn’t a threat to himself, he’d been allowed all the basic toiletries Coulson would have insisted be provided for any prisoner. He privately assumed that Ward’s beard would have been the first thing to go, but aside from trimming it to a neat length the younger man had left it in place.

 _There’s something more to this boy,_ he thought one night, watching Ward pace back and forth the length of his cell. That was the first night he’d called up Ward’s file. Coulson knew he was going to have to make a decision on Grant Ward’s fate soon, and having put some distance between himself and the deep wounds of betrayal he found he was having difficulty making his choice without first really knowing who it was he was sentencing.

A lot of the information was things he was already aware of, and God knew he’d worked with agents with more fucked up pasts. The more he read though, the more Coulson found himself looking at the data through the filter of Ward's recruitment and association with John Garrett and the hidden agenda _Garrett_ had carried to his death. Looking at Grant Ward’s file that way presented enough of a different picture that he’d been motivated to look deeper.

He felt a slight displacement of air and smiled – recognizing Melinda May’s quiet tread a second before she spoke. “Izzie said you were down here.”

“Checking on my mental stability?” he asked, turning to face her.

“Wondering what you’re doing,” she replied. “All the possibilities that spring to mind involve you actually interacting with the prisoner.”

Coulson sighed, folding his arms over his chest. “I’m thinking.”

An elegantly raised eyebrow conveyed May’s skepticism more eloquently than words. “Whether it’s one man or the whole of mankind, they’re all worth saving,” Coulson went on, quoting their recent conversation with Nick Fury. “I’m not a saint, Melinda, but those words – they mean something. They have to, especially if we’re going to get it right this time.” He turned back towards the one-way mirror. “Before I start asking people to join us, to live up to that ideal, I have to know if I still believe in it myself.”

Dark eyes slid past him, looking at the man behind the glass. Coulson didn’t allow himself to speculate as to what Melinda might be thinking or feeling. He’d never pressed her about her relationship with Ward, even though he’d been disproportionately pleased when she’d so thoroughly kicked his ass. “No one blames you for being angry at him,” May said, almost as if she were listening to his inner monologue. “He betrayed you. He betrayed all of us. He killed Victoria Hand and who knows how many others?”

Phil stepped up beside her, looking in at their prisoner. “Not saying you’re wrong, but I’ve been wondering lately if we’ve seen the whole story.”

He’d startled her – Coulson didn’t need to turn to understand that she was looking at him now. “I wasn’t aware we were bothering about that sort of thing. He made it pretty damn clear during the fall where his loyalties were.”

Coulson nodded, turning his back on the prisoner and leaning against the wall. “He did. His loyalties were very obviously with Garrett. Less so his connection to HYDRA I’m learning.”

“You think he was just following Garrett’s lead?” May was openly incredulous now. “Phil, I really don’t see where that matters, given everything he’s done.”

“It does matter,” Coulson said, suddenly feeling more secure about his doubts and what he was considering doing than he had in weeks. “It has to matter, and if we’re really going to do this thing we have to start somewhere.” He nodded at the one way glass. “It has to start with him.”  
***************************  
Grant Ward had already decided not to fight. His mentor was dead. Skye thought he was a monster. May would happily kill him with her bare hands if Coulson gave her the slightest encouragement, and FitzSimmons…God, if he ever saw the two scientists again, Ward was pretty sure he would drop to his knees and beg them to do their worst.

If he cooperated, maybe he could keep it all from hurting too badly. There would be some pain of course – failure always led to pain and failure was what he excelled at.

But maybe Coulson would be as weak as John had always thought him? Maybe he wouldn’t have the stomach to put a traitor down the way Grant knew he deserved to die. It was a thin, fragile strand of hope, the kind John had always mocked him for clinging to, but Grant knew that without the ability to find those sorts of things and hold onto them for all he was worth, he would never have made it this far.

The simple truth was, he didn’t want to die. No matter how bad things got, opting out of the game had never been his style. He also didn’t waste time thinking about freedom – Coulson might be weak, but Ward knew he wasn’t stupid. The most Grant Ward could hope for out of the rest of his life was that he would die peacefully in this cell.

By his best estimation, Ward figured he’d been in his cell for three weeks and two days when he finally heard the key turn in the lock. He came automatically to attention in the center of the room, facing perpendicular to the door, his focus at a spot on the opposite wall.

“Wrists.”

He smiled slightly, but obeyed the command crisply and immediately. A second guard was just visible at the edge of his vision, but Ward knew the gun aimed at his head was more for show than anything else. If Coulson was really worried about him trying to escape, the men would have had him present his wrists through the same slot where he received his meals three times a day. _Mind games._ Phil Coulson was physically a badass. Grant had learned that more than a few times over the last year, but it was the psychological battlefield where he truly excelled.

This was going to be a lot of things, but whatever Coulson had decided to do with him Grant was comforted that at least it wouldn’t be boring.  
****************************************  
“You can’t be here.” Coulson felt his heart rate speed up, seeing Skye in the doorway to the observation room. The guards had already radioed that Ward had been collected and was being moved to the conference room Coulson had modified for his purposes. “Skye, I mean it.”

Her chin came up slightly, and he saw a defiant gleam in her eyes. “Whatever you’re planning on doing to him, I can handle it.”

He’d long ago stopped being surprised at how Skye knew things – the challenge was keeping her focused on the things he wanted her to know so that she wouldn’t find the things he wasn’t ready to talk to her about. “What do you think I’m planning on doing?” he asked.

Him pushing back at her had caught Skye by surprise. “Interrogating him,” she said, looking a little more uncertain. “Digging out whatever HYDRA intel he’s privy to, like you told him when we caught him.”

Coulson huffed out a soft breath. “I was very angry when I said that. We all were. Angry and smarting over Ward’s betrayal.”

Clearly confused now, Skye rocked back on her heels. “Are you planning on forgiving him?”

“Answer me this,” Coulson countered. “Assuming Ward knows anything useful with regards to HYDRA’s plans, do you really think we’re in a position right now to act on it?” Seeing that she undersood he went on, “I’m testing a theory here. I need all of you to back off for a bit and let me see if I’m right. If I’m not, we have other options.”

He turned his back on her, effectively ending the discussion. “If I’m right,” he said, knowing she was still listening intently, “we might end up doing more damage to HYDRA than we thought possible.”  
****************************  
Ward honestly didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. As psychological exercises went this one had been pretty basic – seven stations set around the conference room, each with a number set in front of a stack of items. Two stations had been clothes, another books, still another held stacks of music cds. He’d been instructed to pick the number of items out of the stack that corresponded to the number in front.

 _”You devoted your entire life to a deranged narcissist who never gave a damn about anyone, and now he's dead. You've got the rest of your life to wrestle with the question who are you without him?”_ Coulson’s last words came back to him as he worked. Clearly his journey of introspection hadn’t progressed quickly enough to satisfy the new SHIELD Director – Coulson was obviously trying to get him into the habit of making his own choices – but Ward couldn’t think of any reason for him to take the items in the last pile seriously.

 _Toys._ A stuffed cat whose fur looked irresistably soft, a plush dog that looked disturbingly like Buddy, and a bear who had clearly seen better days. The poor thing’s seams were separating, it’s fur was frayed and worn, and it was missing an eye. “I have to pick from every pile?” he asked, turning to the guard who had stayed at his side.

“Those are the orders,” the man repeated, his face not giving Ward a clue as to what Coulson might be playing at.

 _Okay – there’s a right answer and a wrong answer,_ he thought, working the problem over in his mind. _Whatever I choose is going to give him some imagined insight into my psyche. Do I play it straight or push back at him – show him I’m onto what he’s doing?_

He stood in front of the toys long enough that he began to wonder if his guard or somebody else would push him to make a choice. Nobody spoke up or acted as though he was breaking some rule by taking so much time – so in the end he reached out almost by instinct and grabbed the teddy bear. _He’s weak,_ Ward reminded himself. _Garrett always said so. If he thinks I see myself as a wounded creature, he’s likely to go easier on me._

Ward was feeling surprisingly confident as his guards led him from the room – only to realize immediately that he wasn’t being taken directly back to his cell. “Where are we going?” he asked as they turned down an unfamiliar corridor.

“New quarters,” the guard on his left said. “Director Coulson’s orders.”

Adrenaline surged through Ward’s veins as he wondered anew what was in store for him. He’d viewed each pile as a test unto itself, but he’d never put them together to see a bigger picture in play.

On the surface it was nothing sinister or scary – Coulson had spent some of the time Ward had been in prison transforming a wing of the base into an apartment of sorts. It was sparse but secure, and with the things Ward had been allowed to select for himself represented a definite upturn in his living circumstances. _Maybe he’s trying to show me what my future’s going to be if I don’t cooperate,_ he thought as his guards removed his cuffs and left him locked in his new cage.

 _I have definitely been in worse spots,_ Ward thought as he found places to put his things away and then set to exploring his new home.

At least part of Coulson’s overall plan became clear the next morning. A small leather case was on the kitchen table the next morning when Grant entered to see about making himself breakfast. _The bear,_ he realized as he opened the case to find a compact sewing kit inside. _He wants me to fix the goddamn bear._

Anger struck him so hot and fast that he was shaking as he forced himself to sit at the table. _He’s no better than Garrett. He just wants to use me – take John’s place giving orders and pulling my strings._ He thought for a second about going and getting the toy and shoving it into the garbage disposal, but quickly discarded the idea as that too would involve him playing Coulson’s game.

Abruptly he stopped, reviewing his last thoughts and tasting the idea of playing Coulson’s game again. _Just because he wants to pull your strings doesn’t mean you have to let him._ He’d never agreed to play by Coulson’s rules. _What’s the worst they can do if you just refuse to play?_ After deciding it was nothing worse than he’d been expecting them to do for weeks, Grant closed the case and put it away in one of the kitchen drawers. The bear stayed on a shelf in his bedroom, and as he went about building a daily routine for himself, Grant slowly forgot about the toy and the message implicit in the sewing kit.

Weeks passed, although he had no clear idea of how many, before the toy caught his attention again. It was nothing momentous – he was dusting his room as he’d decided to do every fourteen days, and when he lifted the bear its head lolled on its shoulders and he felt another stitch give way.

 _Dammit,_ he thought, setting the dust rag down and examining the toy more closely. His best guess told him that only a couple dozen stitches were still holding head and body together. _You can fix that._ he told himself. It wouldn’t even take him a long time – he’d learned early how to set small, tight stitches in his clothes and it wasn’t like he really needed to pay attention to the rest of the cosmetic damage. The alternative was to let the bear’s head slowly fall off, at which point it would become little more than a fairly gruesome testament to his own stubborness.

 _You could use the practice,_ was the thought that decided him. Abandoning his chores, he carried the bear to the kitchen and retrieved the sewing kit from its drawer.

“This doesn’t mean we’re friends you know,” he said, setting the bear on the table facing him while he threaded his needle. “I need you to understand that up front.”

In the back of his mind Grant knew Coulson was likely watching, but it was liberating to realize as he prepared his tools and set to work that he genuinely didn’t care. _It’s a toy,_ he thought. _Just a toy._ And insofar as he was being permitted to own things it was _his_ toy, so he had every right to deal with it how he saw fit.

The ritual of setting stitch after stitch was soothing, lulling him almost into a trance as he worked. Each flash of the needle was identically spaced from the one before it, the thread artfully concealed in the joint of head and neck. He was good at this sort of work – he’d forgotten how much pride he’d taken in it especially considering he was entirely self-taught.

When he was done, he knotted off the thread and cut it short. Testing his handiwork, he realized he felt calmer and more balanced than he had in far too long. He liked being self-reliant – once he’d gotten over being angry with Garrett for lying to him about how long he would be left in the woods to fend for himself, his time in the cabin with Buddy had been some of the best years of his life.

He wince, hearing the gunshot that had ended Buddy’s life echo in his memory. It had been one of the last times he’d dared defy Garrett – the death of the dog who’d been the only true friend he’d ever had was an effective lesson in how pointless free will was for a man like him. “You would have liked Buddy,” he said, looking at the bear. “He was a good dog.”

Studying the toy for a long moment, Grant realized that he couldn’t leave the job half-finished. Even if it meant letting Coulson think he’d won some kind of victory, the need to fix something that had never asked to be taken apart like this, to use his skills to create rather than destroy – he needed to do this for him. Coulson could think what he liked. Threading his needle again, he started to work on the first of the frayed seams.

Grant had no way of knowing how long it took him in the end, but he plugged along until every rip was tended to and the bear was whole again. _Much better,_ he thought, enjoying the warm glow of satisfaction spreading through his gut as he turned the toy over in his hands and studied his work with a critical eye.

Turning the bear right side up again he froze – all of his good feelings suddenly twisting up inside his gut. _He needs another eye._ His remaining one was a sparkling black button, the kind you would find on a lady’s formal blouse or gown. It suited him, but Grant had nothing in his apartment to match it.

His stomach growling pulled him away from the problem for a second. Setting the bear safely in the middle of the table, he decided to take a break and make himself some food.

By the time he settled with his dinner, Ward was back to puzzling over the problem. The obvious solution was to take two buttons from one of the shirts hanging in his closet. The downside was that none of the shirts had buttons to match the existing one. Reaching out, Ward stroked the sparkling surface with the calloused tip of one finger. He liked the button. It gave the toy a little bit of character, a little bit of class. Something inside Ward rebelled at having to give that up.

A decent night’s sleep brought him no closer to a solution that sat well with him. Ward tried to gain some distance by forcing himself to stick to his self-imposed routine, but every time he entered the kitchen and saw the job partially-done his frustration flared anew.

Finally on the third day, he grabbed a sheet of paper and scribbled a hasty note. Then he forced himself to go to bed.  
************************************  
The scent of coffee woke him the next morning. Hearing small movements in his kitchen, Grant took the time to wash up, brush his hair and put on his bathrobe before venturing forth from his bedroom.

He didn’t know whether to be surprised or not at the sight of Phil Coulson in his kitchen, fixing him coffee. “I got your message,” the director said, setting a steaming cup on the table. “Have a seat.”

Ward’s eyes widened slightly, but he did as he was told – every movement slow and deliberate. There were no signs of other guards, but he wasn’t foolish enough to think that Coulson had come in here without some means to protect himself. He wouldn’t give them any excuse. “It wasn’t a big deal,” he said carefully. “You didn’t need to come yourself.”

Coulson glanced at the cup on the table. “Drink your coffee. I have to admit I don’t know how you take it, but I’m sure you know where everything is.” Reaching out he picked up the teddy bear. Grant tensed – fighting his first instinct, which was to snatch the toy back from the older man. “You did a good job on this,” he said, turning the stuffed animal over and over in his hands, examining Grant’s work with a critical eye. “I knew you would if you would get out of your own way and decide to try.”

His stomach flipped over queasily as Coulson’s words teased at memories he would just as soon have forgotten. _Mama’s little helper. Maybe we should get you a dress like a proper girl. You’re not going to grow a pair of tits on me are you boy?_ This was how it always started. He pursed his lips, staring resolutely ahead as he waited for the disparaging comments to start. He’d known the bear was a test from the second he brought it back into his cell and he’d still walked willingly into the trap. Garrett was right – he really was too stupid to dress himself sometimes.

“Get it out of your system,” he said bitterly, as the silence quickly became too much for him to stand.

“Get what out?” Coulson asked, his voice almost preternaturally calm.

A surge of anger gave him the courage to look directly at the older man. “Remind me how weak I am. How pathetic I am for spending so much time fixing that stupid scrap of fur!” His stomach muscles tensed, instinctively cringing away from the impending barbs even though he’d practically demanded now that Coulson step up and fulfill his part of the relationship.

Silence fell between them again, so long this time that Ward almost slipped, almost dropped his guard. “I bet you loved having me ask for help with it,” he said, trying to goad Coulson into a reaction.

Still nothing. Grant remembered the talk even before he died that Phil Coulson wasn’t human – that he was a Life Size Model Decoy Fury had built so he would have somebody at his side at all times who was incorruptible and absolutely trustworthy. Looking into the other man’s eyes in that moment he found himself believing it could have been true.

After another interminably long stretch of silence, Coulson gave a small sigh and pushed himself to his feet. _Here it comes,_ Grant thought, dropping his attention to a spot on the table in front of him. He felt the air move as Coulson came around to stand next to him and his shoulders tensed in anticipation of what was going to come next. 

The director’s closed fist appeared at the edge of Grant’s vision. Ward bit the tip of his tongue – a technique he’d learned early on that helped make the first blow less of a shock to his system.

It didn’t prepare him for the sight of Coulson’s fist opening, and the stream of buttons that tumbled from his palm to clatter on the table. “I brought you some options,” Coulson said. “You seemed to like the remaining eye, but I couldn’t tell for certain.” Suddenly terrified at the idea of looking directly at his jailor, Ward squeezed his eyes shut tight, trying to hold back the tears of shame and frustration that were threatening to break free.

While he was struggling to get himself under control, Coulson left the apartment.  
*******************************  
“What the hell were you thinking going in there by yourself?”

Coulson could count on one hand the number of times he’d seen Melinda May so visibly upset. “I told you this was important. I needed to show him I wasn’t afraid of him.”

“You’re an idiot if you aren’t afraid of him,” she countered. “He could have killed you before you drew breath to scream.”

Even though he suspected she was right, the accusation stung. “You aren’t my babysitter anymore, Melinda. I don’t need your help or your permission for the decisions I make.”

She seemed to sense that she’d gone too far. “Phil…”

“No,” he said sharply, cutting her off. “This is not open for discussion.” They stared at each other for a long moment, and in one of the only times Coulson could ever remember it happening, Melinda looked away first. His heart was pounding against his chest as he watched her leave, but he made no attempt to call her back.

A week passed before Coulson received word there was another message from Ward. This one was short and as direct as he knew Grant had it in him to be. _Can we talk?_

This time Coulson allowed him the courtesy of a written response, agreeing to the meet and giving Ward advanced notice of what time he would be there. There had been a method to keeping him off-balance the last time; this time he would allow his former specialist time to prepare himself.

They met in the kitchen – unlike the last handful of times Coulson had been in Ward’s presence since his capure, this time the younger man faced him directly, maintaining the sort of eye contact Coulson was used to from him. “Thank you for seeing me.” He gestured at the table; following his lead, Coulson took a seat.

“Thank you for asking.” He wanted to keep talking, wanted to immediately bring up the last time they’d seen each other, but if this really was going to be about restoring some of the personal autonomy Ward had never been allowed to enjoy Coulson knew he would have to follow the younger man’s lead, at least this time.

Ward seemed to have assumed he would take control of the conversation as well; when Coulson settled back in his chair clearly ready to wait as long as necessary for Grant to say something, it flustered him. “I…uh…I feel like something has changed,” the former specialist said finally. “Like I’ve finally shown you something you were waiting for.”

“You’re not wrong,” Coulson admitted. “I wasn’t just testing you though. These past couple of weeks have also been about testing myself – seeing if I have what it takes anymore to do what Director Fury tasked me to do.”

“How did we do?”

The question actually prompted a smile from Coulson. “Not perfect, but I think we both showed promise.”

Silence fell between them, but it was abruptly more comfortable than either of them could remember being with each other. “What happens now?” Grant asked. “You’re not thinking of letting me…” He let his voice trail off, obviously unwilling to give voice to the idea that he might one day be free.

Coulson was encouraged by how disappointed he was that he couldn’t give Ward what was obviously his deepest desire. “Not right now,” he admitted.

“You couldn’t retain control,” Ward conceded, nodding as if he understood Coulson’s position.

“I’m also not certain it’s in your best interest to be out and in full control of your own destiny right now,” Coulson said, flexing his fingers idly against the surface of the table. “Following orders or not, you betrayed a lot of people and emotions are still running very high on that subject.”

It was the first time since they’d seen each other that Ward had to look away. “You know I deserve whatever they want to do to me.”

“No,” Coulson said, and just hearing the word startled Ward’s attention back to him. “I don’t know that at all. I don’t even know if _I’m_ qualified to decide what you deserve now that I know a little more about who you are.”

Ward smiled, and the sight of it churned Coulson’s stomach. “You read a few files and you think you have the slightest idea who I am? You don’t know shit, Coulson.” His hands clenched into fists, and Coulson tensed – trying to anticipate how the sudden surge of anger and frustration would manifest itself.

“I know enough to understand that even you likely don’t have a clue who you are,” he said, praying he could talk Ward down before all the progress they had made went up in smoke. “I know that if I’m going to do one good thing for both of us in this whole mess it’s give you the opportunity to figure out what _you_ want the rest of your life to be.”

Ward stilled, his fists unclenching. “What if after all that I decide I don’t want to be a part of SHIELD?”he asked quietly. “What if I decide I’m tired of fighting the good fight – or hell, even the bad fight – and I just want to go away for the rest of my life?”

It was a good question – possibly the only question that really mattered, and Coulson knew he owed it to Ward to give him the most thoughtful answer he could. “Your actions still have consequences,” he said finally, “and those will have to be addressed. Once they are – if you decide leaving SHIELD is the best thing for you, then I wouldn’t stand in your way.” He paused, running through what he wanted to say next in his mind before letting it out. “It’s your life, Grant, and your choice. I can’t promise you much about the next several weeks, but I will absolutely promise you that.”


End file.
